A Mere Saturnine Reverie
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: I'm assuming one could call this a songfic... It's simply my own, strange, fringey take on the song 'Lake Ponchartrain' by Ludo. An unexplained trip to New Orleans has horrible results.
1. Chapter 1

A Mere Saturnine Reverie

(A title that would make a thesaurus writer proud!) But seriously, I knew what all that meant when I wrote this, I swear. I felt ever-so-clever when I used the term 'mere' (which has the double meaning of 'that, and nothing more', and 'lake'), until a friend said, "Christ, how old are you? 'Mere' means neither of those, now. _Get out of the house more._" …*tear*my big head deflated somewhat. The term is archaic.

But _jeepers_! I hope this doesn't hint my age, which is somewhere between born and dead.

I'm working on something new, now. I don't know what exactly is considered a 'songfic', but I'm assuming this is something close, and is a variant of the song 'Lake Pontchartrain', by the band Ludo. It's quite amazing, really, but even if you don't like the song, please give this story a chance.

(The only reason I pay taxes is in the hopes that, somewhere, it is funding Walter's experimentations.)

*_I didn't do it! Fringe isn't mine! Ahhh!_

Chapter I

"Why did you murder your son, Dr. Bishop?"

Fear and shock shaped his features. Then, pure, savage ferocity, as he strained against the handcuffs that kept him seated, testing the links with every ounce of strength he could muster. Finding himself completely immobilized, his muscles began to tremble, and at last his will left him and he slumped back in the seat, letting out a dry sob of defeat.

Philip Broyles watched him emotionlessly, at last taking a seat across from him, sighing as he settled, parting his jacket at his waist. He crossed his arms behind his head, and continued to watch, to calculate.

"I-I didn't do anything," Walter Bishop whispered hoarsely. It was the same thing he had been repeating since he had arrived, shivering and stained with blood.

"Your son and Olivia Dunham are missing, presumed dead. We need answers, Dr. Bishop," Broyles sat up, interlacing his fingers on the tabletop, "_Where are they?_"

Walter attempted to cover his face with his hands, stooping his head to the armrest of his chair to hide his eyes with his sleeve, "There was something… out in the water…"

"What, Dr. Bishop? What was in the water?"

"_The water took them!_" Walter burst, his voice tight with desperation and fear, "It took them, and I couldn't get them back!"

Broyles frowned in concern, "Try to calm down, Dr. Bishop. Did something happen, at the lake? Where are they?"

Walter shook his head, looking up at the lights as his eyes swam, "I know what it sounds like. I know how all of this seems. But you have to listen. There was something out there- I-I don't know what it was, but…it killed them. And then it tried to kill me. You…" his fingers crept to the collar of his shirt, his trembling fingers struggling with his buttons. He pulled his shirt open to reveal spotty puncture wounds and blood mussing his white undershirt. They looked to be freakishly large teeth marks, "you have to believe me."

xXx

There is a small diner just off of the highway, in the broad expanse of swampy marshland between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, in Louisiana. He could remember how ridiculously hot it was, even if the sky seemed to be draped in sable clouds, and how the dust from the road seemed to make everything sticky, as they pulled from the pavement into the dirt parking of the cafe.

_God. From Baltimore to the everglades. Wonderful._ The heat was making him cross, and he couldn't help it- it was impossible to sleep under the drip of a swamp cooler, which seemed to be the only form of air conditioner that worked in such a high humidity. He never thought he'd be glad to see the bleak, frozen expanses of Boston once more.

"So what do you think, Walter? 'You up for some crawfish?" Peter said cheerfully from behind his wide, reflective sunglasses.

Walter entertained himself for a few seconds by watching his reflection as he replied , "Thanks, no. Crayfish… the cockroaches of crustaceans, I think."

Peter laughed softly, "Fine, more for me. What about gator , then?" apparently, his son had spent time down in the navel of the states, and somehow found it pleasurable. Being in the muggy climate had cheered him considerably.

Walter frowned, feeling a heat headache setting in, "Of all the vermin that seem to scurry about in this part of the hemisphere, I don't think much of anything is edible."

Peter breezed off the comment, refusing to let Walter's negativity affect his cheer, "You're right. I forgot that they use all the chickens for voodoo." He looked around the nearly empty parking lot, "We've just got to wait around for Olivia. She said she'd try to catch us up when we left the hotel this morning, but I haven't seen her."

Walter decided to ignore Peter in return, drawing circles in the dust on the glass of the rental, "You know, the Vista Cruiser has a wicked good air conditioner. I just never used it, up in the _sanitary_ states."

"There she is. Come on, hop out- let's get lunch."

Walter watched the dust stick to the bottom of his shoes, and slowly cake into a dry mud, in the time it took to walk to the front door of the diner. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dried the sweat from the bridge of his nose as they made their way down the narrow aisle and into a booth, Peter and Olivia chirping to one another aimlessly. Walter sat near the window, Peter beside him. He briefly wondered why no dust seemed to cling to the glass of the diner, before frowning at the tabletop, his seat growing damp against the plastic cushion of the booth as he sweated.

"Walter?"

Walter did not look up from frowning at the tabletop, "Just iced tea, thank you."

Olivia laughed softly, "I asked how you were doing, Walter."

He glanced up at her. Why was it everyone down here wore sunglasses? It was nearly dark outside, "I'd be better with an iced tea," he replied, wondering what it would take to break Peter's mirror lenses, and how each of the slivers would reflect his face.

Olivia chuckled softly, "I think we all will. Is the heat still bothering you?"

Walter leaned back in the seat, glaring at the window as his shoulders stuck to the back cushion. He sighed shortly, massaging his temples with his cold fingertips- he always had such cold hands. He was a doctor. The cold points felt good, as an ache swept across his frontal lobe, threatening another nosebleed.

Peter shook his head, "Just let him be. The south agrees with some people, and not with others," He gave her a charming smile, "And it does seem to agree with you."

Olivia smiled politely in return, her wariness lost behind her dark lenses, "Thanks. You, too."

The tea arrived via a thin, pleasant-looking waitress, her dark, rich skin and soft drawl placing her as local. She had seemed bewildered when Walter had requested more sugar packets, having emptied at least twenty into his drink already. Peter and Olivia drank theirs unsweetened.

They didn't know, as he slipped a packet of his medication out of his sleeve and into the dark tea. Sugar hid the flavor.

He sipped the tea slowly, and his thoughts returned to his two companions' conversation, "Well, Donaldsonville was the last big place, between Baton Rouge and here," Olivia was reasoning, "and we passed that days ago. I don't think there's any place between here and Kenner that would rent out cars."

"You don't need to rent another car," Peter replied, "The Camery is a four-seater, and I'm sure that if we shift some luggage, there's more than enough room for you. Besides, I could use the sane company."

"I resent that comment," Walter grumbled, reading the menu. He frowned at the all-you-can-eat crawfish special.

"You would."

"What if I want more company than the likes of you?" Walter questioned with a smirk, and Peter laughed. Walter folded his menu and tossed it lightly onto the tabletop, "Fried chicken. I don't want any of your damnable crayfish. And I want the sweet potatoes."

"Have it your way. I'll have the special," Peter told the waitress, and Olivia gazed over the menu curiously, "what is it?" Peter asked.

"I've never had crawfish," she admitted.

Peter laughed with disbelief, "Are you serious? You have to get it- it's mandatory, in Louisiana, am I right?" and the waitress laughed softly.

Smiling, Olivia shrugged, handing over her menu, "You're the boss. Crawfish it is."

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

He hated the thunder. The sound it made, the way the air seemed alive in his lungs… he crouched in the back seat with his jacket over his head, flushed with the embarrassment of his childish fear. The scientist side of his brain knew that it was nothing, simply a noise caused by the rapid expansion of air heated by lightening, but the other parts of him were simply happy to hear Peter's voice, "You alright back there, Walter?"

"I'm fine," Walter replied, his voice small and muffled from the floorboard. He winced away as blue light flashed in the car, and lightening streaked across the sky, and he pulled the jacket tighter around his shoulders.

Olivia leaned back over the island, flipping on the overhead light, "Walter, we can stop," she said gently, draping her own jacket over him, "the weather reports say this storm should pass overnight, and it's no problem…"

"No, thank you," Walter replied, sinking lower under the coats.

Sighing, Olivia frowned with worry, turning forward in her seat and turning the light back off again. Walter waited, sweating with anticipation of the next crack, and low, awful rumble of thunder. He murmured an exclamation of fear as noise shook the air once more, and Walter tried not to breathe.

There was a click, and a voice emerged from the speaker low on the door, near Walter's head. A local station of soul music filled the car, and Walter felt his eyes well with tears as the storm outside seemed to fade away, and he sighed, swallowing back the lump in his throat, "Thank you," he whispered.

There was no reply from the front seat.

The song had ended, as Walter felt himself dozing off, and the announcer was speaking about vacationing in Lake Pontchartrain. His words slurred to memory as the jackets slid from Walter's face to settle on his gently rising and falling chest. The rain began to batter at the windows and windshield, the rivulets reflecting on his calm visage in the silent flashes of lightening.

xXx

Walter was wrenched awake as the air in the car flashed red, and Olivia screamed sharply. There was the screech of tires on wet pavement, the grinding crunch of metal twisting, and a flash of pain as Walter's head glanced off the window, shattering the glass as blood exploded from his temple. He lost consciousness to the sound of tree limbs snapping, and the weightless feeling of a rollover.

"Walter? Walter!? _Walter_!" the feeling of a trembling hand on his cheek, digits as cold as his own. Peter tapped his cheek again, "Walter, come on, wake up!"

His eyes eased open a crack, a wave of sight, sound, and pain overwhelming his slurred senses. He blinked and exclaimed as Peter pushed his eyelids open, blinding him with a flashlight, "He's alright. No concussion, just a wicked goose egg."

"My _brain _is bruised…" Walter moaned, raising his hands to his throbbing temples, "Peter, what… what in the world happened? Where…?"

"Take it easy," Peter said as he helped his father sit up in the back seat. Rain continued to pour outside, the flashes of lightening offering a new adventure in pain to Walter's damaged cranium, "I just slid off the road. The damn lightening took down a telephone pole, and I had to swerve before it hit us."

"Nice going, boy," Walter grumbled, dabbing away the blood on his stinging, shredded ear with his sleeve, "a regular roadman, aren't you?"

"You're welcome," Peter growled bitterly.

"The storm must have taken down the phone lines," Olivia said, sliding her cell phone shut with an agitated sigh, "I can't get a hold of any of the services locally. It could be hours before anyone comes along."

Peter shook his head, "Don't worry about it. The car isn't too banged up, and if I can get back onto the highway, we can get to some help." he frowned, "Besides, I'm a little rusty in my diagnosis, so it's probably best if we get Walter some medical attention."

The mud made it impossible to back out of the car's nose-down position in the undergrowth, but Olivia and Peter set about to gather some of the broken limb wood from the impact and stack it under the tires, improving traction, and soon, they were back onto the highway, headed toward any sort of civilization.

Walter covered his eyes in the hopes that not being able to see the world would allow for it to stop spinning. It did not, and he soon felt nauseous. At last Peter pulled off the highway and onto a dirt drive , where Olivia insisted there was a small, out-of the way motel where they could seek shelter.

The air in the car was nearly steam as they pulled to a halt in the dimly-lit parking lot, finding the motel closed, "Maybe we could look to see if there's some other place we could get help," Olivia offered, "There has to be some other place around here- there just can't be a motel in the middle of nowhere."

They began to consult the map as Walter felt a new wave of headache hit, and he pressed a spare tee-shirt to the side of his head to stop the bleeding. He blinked away a drip of red that escaped his pressure, and asked, "may I open a window?"

"No, Walter. It'll ruin the upholstery."

Walter smiled tiredly, and replied stiffly, "Oh, gosh, I wouldn't want to do _that_. I can't breathe, in here."

"No."

Walter slammed his elbow into the window, knocking the already busted glass out of its place to shatter in the parking lot, "It fell out in the crash," he explained lightly as Peter and Olivia paused to glare at him. They returned their attention to more serious matters.

Walter quietly watched the rain wash away his blood on the fragmented glass, and soon it disappeared into the prevailing black of the asphalt. Absently, he held out his palm to let the rain baptize his cold hand. He was wondering if the rain would calm his throbbing skull if he hung his head out the window when something in the corner of his vision _moved_. Slowly, Walter inched his eyes upward toward the tree line, the source of the movement. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his breath growing shorter as he watched, listening.

The brush moved again, and Walter nearly jumped, "Peter, there's something-"

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

A piercing scream prevailed over even the thunder, and the trio issued cries of their own as a black figure crashed away from the brush and bounded across the empty parking lot, the car jerking as it slammed into the drivers' side. The lightening flashed again as the wailing became crazed laughter, and eyes appeared in the mass of black, wild hair, ravaged in the rain and mud. Walter found himself transfixed, staring into the nearly pin-dot black irises of the wailing stranger, an unhealthy yellow tainting the whites of its eyes.

"_The lake_!" the man keened, baring his darkly stained teeth and seeming insanely gleeful of his own disturbance, " _The lake the lake the lake_!" he slammed both fists on the windshield, shaking the car again and letting out another tremendous howl. His arm suddenly snaked thru the window, clammy fingers seizing Walter's collar and pulling.

Walter let out a cry, struggling away and tearing at the strangers' grip, "Peter!"

"Drive!" Olivia commanded shrilly, and Peter slammed the car into gear.

The man would not release Walter until his shirt tore, his grip slipping as he disappeared into the night as they sped away, and he tonelessly roared, "_Come down to Lake Pontchartrain! Rest your soul and feed your brain! Free for you, and all your friends! Crawfish 'till the bitter end!_"

"Are you alright, Walter?" Peter questioned, and Walter nodded, smoothing his fingertips over his own bruised throat as he panted with shock.

"Get us the hell out of here, Peter," Olivia said, clearly shaken, "I don't care what else happens, just get us the hell out of here!"

They slowed to a stop just before the turn on the highway, "Aw, Jesus, no…" Peter moaned.

"What?!" Olivia asked sharply.

"The interstate is flooded! It's fucking closed!" Peter replied, motioning to the newly erected barrier and signs.

"I've come to the decision that I genuinely hate this place," Walter said simply.

A Policeman approached the car in the rain, raising his flashlight to peer into Peter's face, then Olivia's. Walter winced away from the light as the officer said, "Sorry, folks, but we've got a downed power line," he said, "At this rain is making it impossible to clear the road, we're so flooded."

"Is there some other way around, to the nearest town?" Olivia questioned urgently, "We've had an accident, and we need to get to some medical help."

"The nearest town is Brawley. But that's a ways off."

"Is there any other way to get there, besides the interstate? Please, we need to hurry," Olivia insisted.

"Well, you can always take back roads," the officer offered, "but I'd be careful, in this weather. I'd call some help for you myself, but the radio is down."

"Thank you," Olivia said. "Could you point us toward Brawley?"

"Yes, Ma'am. You have to go strait down the way you came, and take a left at the fork…"

Walter's thoughts returned to his aching head, and he felt around for his tee shirt, pressing it back to his laceration. It stung a bit as it clung to his skin, and he hissed softly through his teeth in protest. Peter glanced back at him, "Hang in there," he said.

Walter did not want to look back into the dark trees that lined the road, and instead peered intently at the dripping plastic cover of the policeman's badge. In brief, painful spasms of thought, he pondered if the badge would rust, in the rain, and if veteran officers polished theirs in an attempt to quell their feelings and fears of age. Were rookies called 'shinybadge'? "Hey, _shinybadge_," he said to himself in a gruff, Louisiana accent.

"Excuse me, sir?" the policeman questioned.

"Ignore him," Peter replied, "Well, thanks again for the directions."

"Good luck, and try not to get lost. Have a nice night." They turned the car away from the cement barriers, and retreated down the dark, dirt road.

xXx

"We don't even know where we are!" Olivia snapped.

"Maybe if you'd stop yelling at me, I could give the matter some thought!" Peter retorted. The two had been arguing aimlessly for the last ten minutes as the car barreled on, whether or not on a destined road was uncertain.

"Maybe you should have listened to the officer and followed directions!" Olivia retorted.

"I did! It's like navigating a bowl of pudding, out here!" he replied hotly.

"Then why is it proving so difficult?!" she demanded.

"WOULD YOU TWO KINDLY SHUT THE HELL UP?" Walter said loudly, clutching his head. The blood had half-dried into a soft scab, still leaking now and again thru his fingers, "stop arguing, or put a bullet in my brain, right now. _Your choice_."

Silence followed his statement, and at last, Olivia sighed, "We're lost, Peter. We just need to stop and get our bearings."

"I know where we are. I just need to get on the road."

"Obviously you don't know where we are, or we'd be in Brawley," Olivia said acidly.

"Do you want to get out on the hood and be lookout?!"

"We'd be better off to let Walter drive!"

Walter sighed with exhaustion and hopelessness. His senses felt numb with pain, the rest of his world growing slurred as he attempted to endure his discomfort. Wishing he could shut out the world, he stared ahead, at the nearly black windshield, flashes of lightening revealing overhanging willow trees to his sights. As if on queue, there was another flash, and Walter squinted, uncertain of what he had seen, "Lake…?" he murmured.

"Do you want to try this?!"

"Do you want to try _thinking_?!"

Yes- it was the reflection of light, on water, "Lake," Walter said in warning.

"_Woman _and their delusions of control!"

"_Men _and their hubris for directions!"

"LAKE!" Walter cried, pointing.

Peter slammed on the breaks, the tires sliding to a halt in the mud as the front bumper clipped a tilted pole, the sign atop it reading: _Lake Pontchartrain- everything the water can be_.

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

"Jesus Christ," Peter breathed. They were only a few feet away from the rolling waters' edge.

"I said 'lake'," Walter whispered with a dry mouth.

"We're aware of that, Walter-" Peter started.

"Jesus- there's someone out there," Olivia said.

"What?" Peter questioned.

"Shh, listen!" the car was silent, and over the whir and crash of the storm and waves, there came a high, distant keening. Olivia and Peter sat up strait, "Someone is out in the lake!" Olivia said, throwing off her seatbelt, "See?! Out there, struggling in the swells!" she kicked open her door and jumped out.

"Walter, stay here!" Peter commanded quickly, throwing off his own shirt and starting after her, "Damn fool woman…"

"Wait!" Walter cried, "Where are you going?! Come back!" he scrambled over the island into the front seat to get a better view out of the windshield, "Why the hell…?" he moaned. He leaned out the window as his companions plunged into the choppy water, "Hey! Get back in the car, you fools!"

He clutched his head as ringing filled his ears, and he gasped with pain as it grew louder, seeming to reverberate in his skull. He felt a hot drop on the back of his hand, and looked down at it, blood running down his knuckles to the tips of his fingers. A nosebleed. "Oh, damn it!" he cursed helplessly, throwing his head back to disrupt the flow. The ringing grew even louder, piercing his eardrums. He stopped his nose with his spent tee shirt, and returned his sights to Lake Pontchartrain.

The bright lights of the car seemed faded in the prevailing inkiness of the storm as it raged, the swells now appearing to grow in size, now that he watched them. Walter suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, "Oh, god…" he croaked, all moisture leaving his mouth. The tiny forms of Peter and Olivia bobbed and tipped wildly in the surf, struggling toward the source of distress, as something huge encircled them, slipping in and out of the waves.

_No, this is insane. This can't be happening. I'm just having a relapse, is all. There's nothing…_

Icy rain pounded his abused senses as he ran along the shore, "Peter!" he yelled into the crashing of water, "Peter, get out--!"

The creature had disappeared. Walter waited. Suddenly, Olivia issued a cry of surprise, and her head disappeared below the water, "Olivia!" Walter shouted. The ringing had become unreasonably loud, and Walter dropped the tee-shirt, raising his hands to his ears and letting his bloody nose run freely across his lips and down his chin. The cloth was snatched away by the water, and he looked up as the water seemed to recede. His breath stopped.

The black waves drew up into a lone, looming peak, and rose into the air, overlapping Peter's form and swallowing him into the depths. "Peter!" Walter called hopelessly, panic gripping him.

Coils slapped the water as it rushed out again, swirling around Walter's legs and sweeping his knees out from under him. Walter gave a cry, as he was hauled under the surface, and water was forced into his throat and nostrils. Bursting from the surface he hacked and gasped, before something gripped his thigh, and he struggled away before he was plunged under once more.

_Oh god, this can't be happening. It's insane,_ his mind screamed.

His fingers scrambled for the grip tightening on his leg, finding thick, slimy flesh beneath his fingernails. His head was pounding, he'd loose consciousness soon and drown…

A new sensation awoke him like no other he had ever felt. Lips, pulling at this chest and shoulders, and teeth, huge, blunt, and flat, grazing his writhing form. _The mouth, dear god, I'm going to die. Peter._

The teeth gnashed into his body.

Air rushed from his lungs in a soundless scream as he felt his ribs grind and splinter, and his back arched sharply, attempting to save his spine from harm. His flesh and clothes were pinched and torn, and his hands abandoned their task of freeing his leg, his fingers plunging into what he unconsciously assumed were gums. With all he was, he twisted, freeing a mass of tissue, blood clouding the already thick water.

The jaws tightened once more, and freed him. Walter twisted as best he could, away from the retracting unknown, and kicked for the surface.

Coils suddenly pounded the water around him as he reached the surface, and he was thrown aside, tumbling over and over in the swells. His head struck something solid, and he nearly threw up, before loosing consciousness.

xXx

"And how did you get here?" Broyles questioned quietly.

Walter massaged his temples in exhaustion, "I-I don't know. It's all so blurry. I woke up in the mud. I ended up here."

Broyles was silent for a few moments in contemplation, "It's a fantastic story, Dr. Bishop. But Peter and Olivia- how do you know they're dead? They could have escaped, like you did."

Swallowing, Walter shook his head, "No… they-they're…" but he could not finish.

"How do you know?"

"That's how it happened!" Walter cried, "Why would I lie?! There were no bodies, I've got none to hide! I don't know what the hell happened, we just got lost in the rain- but you must believe me! You have to see the lake, you have to know-"

"I believe you did see something in that lake, Dr. Bishop," Broyles answered quietly, "I believe that you actually think all of this happened. But I also believe that you know Peter and Olivia are dead _because you killed them_."

"_I didn't kill them_!" Walter screamed.

"You are an unstable man, Dr. Bishop. 'Paranoid, delusional schizophrenia', I remember the files say," Broyles rose from his seat, sighing as he straitened his blazer, "I _believe _you need help."

Walter gaped as the door to the interrogation room opened, several armed agents entering to free him from his restraints, and hoist him to his feet by the elbows. Walter began to kick and struggle, pleading, "You have to believe me! The lake took them! LISTEN TO ME!" He gave a cry of pain as one of the agents gripped him by the arm, twisting the appendage and breaking it.

Walter opened his eyes as glass sliced into his inner thigh, just above the knee. His limp, broken arm was freed from the seatbelt, as he was pulled, shoulders first, from the overturned vehicle.

Rain drenched him and mud clung to him as Walter shifted to look up, Peter dragging him from the wreckage by the collar. He stared stupidly, his mind gathering an inconclusive, unexplainable blank on the situation.

"Walter," warm fingers touched his cheek, and he looked up into the emerald eyes of Olivia Dunham, "Walter, are you alright? Peter, I think he's got a concussion. He keeps blacking out."

"Sit him up, don't let him fall asleep," Peter answered, his voice tight with distress, "An ambulance is on the way, just try to keep him together." Walter watched as Peter leaned over him, brows drawn with worry, "Hang in there, Walter. Just hang in there."

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

Final Chapter.

Fear seized him as he awoke in a hospital gurney, his fingers tightening on the steel rails around his bed.

_I'm back at St. Claire's. He sent me back. _

"Morning, sleeping beauty," came a familiar, cheerful sentiment, and Walter nearly cried out. Peter smiled at him from the foot of the bed, and Olivia looked up from her magazine. Walter blinked. What was this?

"Walter, there was an accident," Olivia explained before he could ask, and she came to his bedside, circling his cold fingers with her warm hands, "Lightening struck a telephone pole, and we slid off the road. But you're okay, now. You're at Brawley Medical Center. How do you feel?"

Walter considered a few moments, and Peter and Olivia exchanged glances, "Confused," Walter finally answered.

"You should be," Peter answered, "You got rattled around back there pretty bad. A concussion, broken arm, a few cuts and bruises… Yes, I told them you have bad knees… but the doc says you'll be alright in no time."

Both seemed confused and slightly alarmed as Walter continued to stare at them, "I saw you die," he whispered.

"What?" Olivia questioned.

Walter raised a hand to touch the bandage on her bruised chin with a wry smile, "Nothing, my dear, nothing at all. I'm only grateful that you're alive." Olivia only looked further confused and further alarmed.

"Why don't we let you get some sleep?" Peter offered.

"I'm never sleeping again,' Walter replied seriously.

Peter snorted, "Sure."

"Peter, could I speak with you a moment?"

Obligingly, Olivia departed with a smile, and Peter cautiously approached the gurney. Walter reached out to tentatively touch his hand, "Help me to sit up, please." Peter moved to assist him, and Walter trapped him around the shoulders with his good arm, "I've got you, now," he murmured softly.

"Walter, what the hell?" Peter questioned flatly, attempting to pull away, "You're acting weird. I mean, weirder than average."

"I never want to come to this god-forsaken part of the planet _ever again_," Walter replied, "I didn't want to embarrass you in front of Olivia. I know how much she means to you."

Peter grimaced, "Whatever. Let go."

"Okay. Sorry." and Walter released him, "I'm glad that you're alive, too," he smiled tearfully.

Peter appeared unable to do anything with himself, "…Yeah, me too. Stop being weird." he turned toward the door, scratching the back of his neck, "Get better, and we can go see Lake Pontchartrain, it's on the way. I hear it's _teeming _with crawfish, this time of year."

"Peter."

Peter looked over his shoulder, "Huh?"

"Not a _chance _in _hell_."

END.


End file.
